


Bah Humbug

by kronette



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M, christmas 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John had heard 'bah humbug' enough times over the last few years that he'd given Sherlock a cable knit jumper emblazoned with the phrase, with the command that he must wear it to all holiday functions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bah Humbug

_Bah humbug._

John had heard it enough times over the last few years that he'd given Sherlock a cable knit jumper emblazoned with the phrase, with the command that he must wear it to all holiday functions. Since Sherlock was only required to attend his own holiday function at 221B, it wasn't that much of a hardship.

At least, it shouldn't have been. 

John shook his head as Sherlock came out of their bedroom in a smart blazer over a crisply ironed shirt. "No." He pointed at the door. "Go put it on." 

The haughty disdain he could ignore. The pout he could not. With a put-upon sigh, John sidled up to his lover, touching his cheek to bring him down for a kiss. "For me," he murmured against the lips no one would realize were soft, belying the rough, callous words so often spewed from between them. 

"You know this is emotional blackmail," Sherlock grumbled as he spun on his heel in full retreat to their sanctuary. 

John followed, not wanting to miss the strip show that was about to take place. He leaned against the doorjamb and watched as the jacket effortlessly slipped from the thin shoulders and was placed carefully on the bed. 

He rubbed at his lower lip in an attempt to hide his smirk as Sherlock continued his ranting, "Just because we sleep in the same bed and occasionally have sex doesn't give you the right to demand unreasonable requests of me." The row of buttons over the surprisingly strong chest were quickly undone, followed by the two buttons on each cuff, then the shirt tugged off roughly. 

It was unusual for Sherlock not to take care with his clothing; the man was meticulous about loose buttons and threads, but tonight he seemed…distracted. John didn't flatter himself that it was from his appreciative gaze. He'd learned long before they became lovers that Sherlock had no sense of modesty or humility. He was neither proud nor disgusted by his body; it was merely the instrument to which the pleasure centers of his brain were stimulated. Looking, according to Sherlock, did nothing to stimulate him. Therefore, by association, being looked at did nothing for him, either. 

John brought his thoughts back around to Sherlock's statement. "I hardly think that asking you to wear a jumper one night of the year, in the privacy of our own home, is an unreasonable request." He pushed off from the doorjamb and walked over to his lover, stilling his hand's movements when Sherlock shook out the jumper in preparation of pulling it over his head. 

His voice was a quiet murmur as he added, "And I hope that this means more to you than merely sleeping in the same bed and occasionally having sex. I know you think love is only a chemical imbalance." He waited for Sherlock's grunt of agreement, but he could tell Sherlock was hanging on his every word. "But I'm hopelessly chemically imbalanced for you, so for me, tonight. Please." He took the jumper from Sherlock's unresisting hands and moved to stand before him. 

Sherlock tilted his head down, but instead of pushing the jumper over his hair, John offered him another kiss, this one a bit more urgent. He made a pleased sound as he felt Sherlock's arms come around his shoulders. He licked his lips when he was released, the low thrum of arousal heightening his senses. 

Sherlock's voice was low as he hissed, "Damn it, John. Why couldn't you let me do this my way?" 

He was abruptly pushed an arm's length away, with a glare that clearly said 'don't move.' Befuddled and slightly hurt, he watched with widening eyes as Sherlock dug into his trousers pocket and retrieved a teal box. "I wanted it to be a nice presentation with all of our friends around. But since you're insistent on me wearing that hideous jumper, we'll do it now. Here." 

The box was thrust into his unresisting hand. He stared down at _Tiffany & Co_ in a slightly darker blue than the box, something bubbling up inside him. The lid was removed with slightly trembling fingers to reveal a suede navy blue jewelry box. He dropped the lid as he opened the suede box, all the breath leaving him at once. 

Sherlock's quiet voice penetrated the rushing of blood in his ears. "You've always wanted to be married. It's something that's been buzzing around you since the day we met. You see it as a necessity to show your love for another person. You know I don't believe it any of it, but I believe in you. And come June when we can be legally married as husband and husband, or whatever frothy term you want to declare, I'll be proud to stand by your side in front of our friends and family." 

He could feel his mouth gaping open as his heart caught in his throat, but he couldn't stop staring at the glint of gold nestled in the box. He pulled out the smooth band, noticing the fine etching inside: _SH 221B 2010-7-25_. He stared at it, working out what it meant immediately, and grinned. "It's brilliant," he whispered, finally glancing up and seeing an expression he rarely saw on his lover's face – fear. 

Sherlock Holmes was afraid. Of what? That he'd say no? That he'd throw it in his face? Impossible. Sherlock Holmes was afraid of nothing except – except when it came to John and his own feelings. He felt his expression softening, the sting of tears blurring his vision for a second. "Do you have one, or is this only for me?" he asked breathlessly. He tracked Sherlock's movements to his side of the bed, where he retrieved an identical box from the nightstand. 

John held out his hand and whispered, "Give it here." 

Fear was seeping from Sherlock's expression, being slowly replaced by trepidation. He hated not knowing what was happening, and since John didn't really know himself, that left them both in the dark. John took out the ring, seeing a similar engraving but with his initials. 

"Right then." He took a breath and stared straight into his lover's eyes. "I don’t question your insights anymore, I trust that you know what's best. That you were willing to go through a civil ceremony –"

"A marriage ceremony," Sherlock interrupted him. 

His eyes narrowed and Sherlock's mouth clapped shut. "A marriage ceremony, because you thought it was important to me, means more to me than this bit of gold." He loved it when he could make Sherlock nervous. It happened so rarely that it was on par with a royal coronation or a night uninterrupted by Lestrade calling. He clasped Sherlock's hand and slid the ring on his finger. "This is all I need, Sherlock. I don't need to stand up in front of God, country, family and friends to declare my love for you. Loving you, and being loved by you, is all I've ever wanted." 

He was swept up in a passionate kiss, Sherlock's usual perfect technique absent. Messy and imprecise, mouths misaligned and lips trembling against his – it was truly _passionate_ and left him weak in the knees. 

He felt himself being pushed backward, but he held onto Sherlock's shoulders as he was guided down to their bed, groaning as Sherlock's body covered his. "We have guests," he tried to protest, though his heart wasn't in it. 

"We have 45 minutes; plenty of time," Sherlock muttered against his neck as his fingers made quick work of his trousers. 

"They'll know what we were doing," John gasped, then groaned in protest as Sherlock stopped abruptly to stare down at him, his eyes glittering in the half-light. 

"The Tube is stopped due to a malfunction on the tracks; estimated time to repair unknown. The streets are slick enough that cars are averaging 20 miles per hour, and the trains are running 17 minutes behind. If you'd stop talking, we'd have…" 

John muffled the rest of Sherlock's running commentary with his lips. Message received, they met their guests with pinked faces freshly washed in the shower, and matching gold bands on their fingers.


End file.
